


Hit for Haiti, Hit for Me

by Dractonis



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Language, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dractonis/pseuds/Dractonis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They play together at Hit for Haiti and it's all for a good cause. Novak grateful to be there, didn’t think twice when Roger approached him with the idea if it meant Rafa would be next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit for Haiti, Hit for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a fictional story and although the Hit for Haiti did happen, I’ve used my own interpretation of what happened throughout and a complete fabrication of what happened afterwards. No implication is intended in regards to the real people involved in this story.
> 
> Notes: This fic is based on the events of the charity event Hit for Haiti (2010). It focusses on the exchanges between Rafa and Novak and is basically a huge digression I couldn’t avoid writing, apologies in advance!
> 
> It will make more sense if you have seen the footage (which I completely recommend, it’s awesome and hilarious), but it can be read completely standalone too.
> 
> Link below:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgKICDp_tBQ
> 
> I did take huge liberties with pretty much zoning Novak out at the end but I felt like I wanted him to be that way, he can be very difficult when he’s feeling 100%. I’m gluten-intolerant myself so I basically just wrote my typical reaction to ingesting it.

They play together at Hit for Haiti and it's all for a good cause. Novak grateful to be there, didn’t think twice when Roger approached him with the idea. Desire masked in philanthropy as he rubs Rafa's legs up and down, up and down. Entertaining the crowd he thinks, even as he lavishes the attention onto Rafa, a smack to his backside reciprocated and he tries to ignore the thrill that resonates within him. Bites his tongue and plasters on a fake grin as Kim follows his example, Rafa fake moaning her name for show.

His mood bounces back when he hears his voice. "You with myself, you on the volley, we’ll be almost impossible" Rafa asserts confidently as he steps back out onto the court, not waiting to see if the Serb is following. Novak tries to hide his beaming smile, almost bouncing as he slings his arm around broad, tanned shoulders. Roger is staring at them across the net and Novak suddenly feels hot with pressure, pressure that has no place in a charity match.

He breathes deep and reminds himself that this is an exhibition match, why he’s here, of the money they’re raising for those who need it most. The crowd is on edge, excited at the all-star line-up and what the Spanish/Serbian dream team can bring to the court.

Rafa is bouncing the ball as he calls to Novak, gauging where he should serve. The younger man bends over, arching his back and suggestively wiggling his ass, his silver Nole shorts straining against flesh as Rafa is apparently oblivious. Roger laughs, Sam laughs, the crowd laugh. None of them know that Novak dreams about the King of Clay pressed up behind him and of stolen kisses in locker rooms.

Rafa serves straight into the net, silently falls back to the baseline for a second attempt. The players start a rally and Novak sets himself up ready to return, casual hits until Roger smashes the ball back and Rafa chases it down into the stands, clambering over the wall in the process. Loses the point despite his efforts and looks frustrated as he presses his forehead against the cool surface. Grits his teeth and grunts; it’s just a game.

“You know what? I think we should stay on the baseline, both of us” Novak suggests as he pats his partner gently on the shoulder. “Yes, better” Rafa concedes, setting up to serve once again. The left handed tennis player focuses across the net as he raises the ball in his hand and shoots it across, intercepted shortly by Sam and the rally is over before it’s began. 

Two incredible players in their own right, yet they're losing easy points as they fumble awkwardly around each other, barely covering the court when they’re two of the best movers in the game. Novak tries to lighten the strain he's sensing from his teammate, makes a joke about Kim being a better partner. Roger boos dramatically and his role as the joker is fulfilled. Rafa doesn’t quite get it though, and he reminds himself that Rafa doesn’t always get sarcasm, as much as his English has improved pragmatics are sometimes lost on him.

It's just a game, just a game. But Rafa is walking back towards the side-line and Novak stumbles over his words, "Come on man, no no no, I’m saying Kim was a better partner for you. Why do you get angry?" Rafa dismisses his efforts and blames the Serb for his lack of confidence, the crowd amused at their banter. They lose another point as Rafa misses an easy return and Novak is starting to feel uncomfortable as Rafa strides around frustrated, muttering “always the same” under his breath. Only it’s not quite muttering when you’re mic’d up and there’s 17,000 people listening.

Rafa offers to sit out and Novak’s chest tightens, doesn’t want to lose this chance when he’s only just been given it. It’s rare the two are able to share time together, spending the tour predominantly with their country men and women. He begs Roger to miss a ball in jest and they prepare to play again, he wants to impress this time. Before he knows it Roger and Rafa are caught up in their own match, exaggerating their calls as they rally the ball back and to through the air. It’s hypnotising but in the end Roger gets the point and Novak picks his partner up, congratulating him on the hard work.

The proximity warms his body and he’s longing for another break between games so he can touch those smooth thighs again, wonders if the Spanish man realises as he breathes in his scent; all sweat and barely masked deodorant underneath. Of course he doesn’t, it’s Rafa. He’s sees the good in everyone but isn’t the brightest when it comes to realising others’ intentions. Add that to the fact that Roger Perfect Federer is 25 metres in front of him and Novak is surprised Rafa knows he’s even there at all.

He’s hitting long across the net with Roger when the ball skirts in close to the net on his side, but Rafa’s there in a blue and white flash and he’s smashing the ball down onto the opposite court before either opponent can reach it. The crowd roars. His eyes meet Rafa’s and he understands as they accelerate towards each other and bump chests enthusiastically in the air. Novak falls back slightly, trying not to cringe at the fact that the Spaniard weighs a good 10kg against his slighter frame. Wonders what that weight would feel like splayed out on top of him, pressing into him. Fuck.

He’s so happy just to be here with his friends and colleagues, raising money and playing the sport he loves best. Wants nothing more than to grab his partner and embrace him there and then he’s so caught up in the moment, but he controls the urge and the audience quietens. Jim’s over the speakers saying something about Rafa having to sit out because he damaged his mic in their chest bump and there’s the fluttering panic in his chest again. Don’t leave now.

Novak is cursing himself and beginning to think the whole thing is a bad idea before he hears that beautiful accent speak up over the noise and suddenly it could never be a mistake. Nothing about Rafa isn’t inherently right. His shirt is riding up revealing hard, dripping abs as he pockets the audio device and Novak melts in his spot, frozen in space. Wants so much to reach forward and… he’s playing tennis. Focus.

Serena runs onto the scene and Novak beckons Kim to even the odds, it has nothing to do with wanting to put something between him and Rafa. Not trusting himself alone with the man. The two trios are hitting across the net, it’s chaotic yet rhythmic and should be entirely fun. It is until Rafa chastises him for returning a shot of Roger’s that would have otherwise been out. He’d eagerly hit back without thinking strategy, enjoying the gentle touches back and forwards before the annoyed “Novak” breached the air.

“Are you sure?” Novak questions upon hearing the admonishment. Rafa repeats himself and the Serb is apologising sadly, annoyed with himself for disappointing Rafa. It’s not the first either, as he fails to hit a shot heading Rafa’s way back over the net. Thought he could save Rafa the strain of reaching for it but fucks it all up instead.

“Novak, I am here! Come on!” 

Novak hears the second reproach in the same moment and feels like crawling into a hole somewhere, eyes clenched tight. Knows it’s just a charity match, gets that Rafa is playing it up for the crowd but he can’t help feeling like he’s letting Rafa down somehow. Wonders how he’s ever going to compete with Roger, Roger who would never miss a shot like that. Roger who is looking sympathetically over the gaping net between him and Rafa. 

Novak wants to escape Rafa’s burning orbs looking his way, his limbs extended in exasperation as he demands to know what he’s playing at. He’s apologising over and over but it’s not enough as Rafa is back to his pacing and sighs of “always the same.” Novak resumes play but he’s not enjoying it anymore, doesn’t feel the exhilaration of being by Rafa’s side so much as the pressing sense of failure and overwhelming need to leave and be alone. Forces himself to maintain the charade for the time being.

They don’t play together for the rest of the event, taking turns with Kim against Roger, Sam and Serena. When the match concludes and Roger’s team just scrapes the win it’s all clapped backs, handshakes and one-armed hugs as the players gather and thank each other for the match. Novak is waiting for Rafa to come to him like he has everyone else, like he did with Roger, lingering slightly with his arm around Swiss shoulders. Novak never stops waiting for his turn.

They run through the totals of the money they’ve raised and the pledges they’ve received before bowing out. The remaining players gather in the restaurant for a short meal together and the conversation is light and reminiscent of the day’s events. Roger and Serena are doing most of the talking as Novak picks at his food, restricted in what he can eat thanks to his gluten allergy. He’s not sure what exactly he has on his plate or whether he should even be consuming it but can’t bring himself to care too much in his present state of mind. He takes a few bites. Always the same, he hears in his mind.

Finally they’ve finished eating and they say bye to the girls, returning to the familiar locker rooms of the Rod Laver arena. Novak is rushing ahead from the other players, wanting to avoid the forced conversation now they’re not acting for the crowd and needing to distance himself from Rafa. 

He pulls open his locker door with more force than necessary and retrieves his belongings, pulling on his denim jeans quickly. Not bothering to shower he turns around and makes to exit the changing area. Perhaps his contacts are playing up or maybe he’s so focussed on leaving that he doesn’t see in front of him, Novak doesn’t know. What he does notice is that he’s slamming into a hard body and stumbling to the ground before he can react.

“Nole! Careful where you going, ok?” Rafa asks as he reaches down and clasps Novak’s hand to help pull him back onto his feet. Rafa’s hand is calloused and rough around the edges from years of gripping racquet handles, still slightly wet from the game they’ve been playing. It’s nothing like a woman’s and yet it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever felt. Doesn’t want to let go as he rights himself.

He tries to pass his urgency off with an embarrassed shrug accompanied by a brief ‘thank you, I’m fine’ and tries his hand at escaping once more, he cheeks red and flushed. Of course Roger ruins that, Roger ruins everything.

“You’re leaving without showering?”

He stops in his tracks, eyes squeezed tight again. “Uh… I… I feel not so good, really. I was just gonna get back to the hotel and lie down if you don’t mind. Not that you’d mind if I didn’t shower with you guys, I mean, I…” Novak trails off, thinking he couldn’t possibly blush harder than he is right now. Rafa and Roger are both laughing at his confused words as he gives up trying to redeem himself.

“Thank you for organising Roger, it was fun, we helped many people. You too Rafa, bye.” Roger’s nodding in acknowledgement and walking off towards the showers to take his own advice, the latter doesn’t give up so easily though. Why is it so hard to leave the men’s locker room unscathed?

“Nole, you ok, let me help, no? I take you back to hotel, I stay there too. Come.” Rafa looks concerned and it’s a stark contrast to his angry glances earlier when he was missing shots, Novak doesn’t forget. But Rafa’s bag is slung over his shoulder and he’s already walking towards the exit expecting Novak to be behind him. He sighs and follows obediently, the sickness he’d invented earlier as an alibi now manifesting as a migraine. Figures. 

Novak would protest for the sake of his pride but he knows it’s no use negotiating with Rafa, he’s already made his mind up, chivalry and politeness ingrained in every inch of his body. The two men are walking quietly side by side until they reach the back door of the arena, Rafa holding it open for him before flagging one of their cars down to traverse the journey back to the hotel they’re staying at. They’re here today for Haiti, however the Australian Open officially begins tomorrow so their accommodation is already in order.

He’s overly aware of Rafa’s body seated next to his in the back of the car, radiating heat and closer than necessary given the size of the vehicle. His head hurts from the migraine that’s worsening each second, his muscles ache and he doesn’t know if it’s the stress but it’s nothing compared to the pain he feels in his chest with all of his feelings waging war internally. He groans quietly in distress.

Maybe Rafa senses it too, because in that moment he’s looking down at Novak and smiling sympathetically, places his right arm around the slender man’s shoulders to offer some comfort. Novak’s looking back at him and he knows he should turn away, knows that his gaze has not only passed but defiled the very time limit for socially acceptable and appropriate gazes. This is not ok.

“My face ok, no?” Rafa is asking him confusedly, rubbing his cheek questioningly with his free hand and pulling it back to observe for anything unsightly. Novak hums in confirmation, feeling drowsy now that the match is over, thinking it might be best that he just stops talking anyway. His mouth is starting to hurt too and he still recalls Rafa growling his name in frustration as he lost their points in a stupid charity match all too clearly.

He may not have the best grasp of the English language, but Rafa isn’t stupid. He knows something is bothering Nole but simply frowns and turns the other way to look at the passing scenery as they drive through the city. He won’t pressure him into something he doesn’t want, he knows better than to put the Serb in that situation.

The rest of the journey passes in silence before the car slows to a stop outside the large hotel. Rafa hears soft breathing and finds Novak resting against the back seat, eyes closed and brow furrowed. He shakes him awake gently. “Nole, wake up, we here. Come, I take you to room and you sleep, si? No sleep here.” Novak is barely aware of nodding and allowing himself to be led outside and through decorated hallways, cushioned carpets. When did he get so tired?

He feels a strong hand groping around in his back pocket and bites his lip to stop the gasp that’s trying to escape. He’s disappointed when Rafa’s hand reappears with his key card and unlocks the door. Expects he’ll be leaving now. He’s surprised when Rafa is easing him down onto the plush bed and pulling off his shoes and his mind is a jumbled mess. “Lie down. Here, take these off.”

He regrets lying back almost immediately as his head spins painfully, his stomach doing somersaults. He knows the feeling and his eyes snap open as he’s dragging himself up and sprinting towards the bathroom. Novak drops to his knees on the solid, cold floor and wretches violently into the toilet bowl. His knuckles are white from the grip he has on the edge of the porcelain as he empties his stomach painfully, realising his earlier mistake. He’s hurting and he feels like shit and all he knows is that he doesn’t want Rafa seeing him like this. Anyone but Rafa, where is Andy?

Rafa doesn’t have the same reservations though, he’s running a hand through his hair soothingly. He tries shrugging him off. “Hey, stop. You’re ok, I here. It’s ok.”

When he’s done Rafa helps him up for the third time in the past hour and flushes the toilet. He leaves Novak to brush his teeth alone as he retrieves a bottle of water from the cooler and settles it on the bedside table. Cleaned up, Novak’s walking slowly back to his bed in the centre of the room, feeling his body working against him in his sluggish movements. 

“How you feel Nole? Should I get Marian, you need anything? What can I do?”

Novak’s bombarded with questions as he shakes his head against the ache there, protesting at the suggestion of alerting his coach to his current state. It’s his fault, Marian wouldn’t be happy that he’d jeopardised the first round of the Open in a bout of apathy brought about by lovesick feelings. Christ he’s not a teenager anymore.

“Ok, I stay with you. You don’t look good Nole, should not be alone. You fine earlier, I don’t understand?” Rafa is sat on the other side of the bed, Novak lying away from him and curled in on himself. He reaches forward and he’s stroking Nole’s back this time, rubbing up and down and the younger man relaxes into his touch. “I think I ate gluten at lunch, my fault, wasn’t paying attention. I’ll be ok tomorrow Rafa, I’m ok.”

“No you not ok, is not just that, no?” Rafa questions and rolls Novak over slowly to face him, peers down into his face. Novak wants to ask him what he means, what he’s doing, why he’s still here. He knows it’s too late, knows everything he’s feeling is displayed for the world to see in his unguarded expression, emotions raw in his eyes. He’s never been subtle, has flirted with him for years. “Rafa… I…” He stops when Rafa places a long finger against his lips.

“I know Nole, I not blind like you.” He tries to joke.

“You know?”

“Mmmm…” Rafa’s hand has reached higher now, is caressing his face and he can’t look away from those eyes staring down at him. Can’t look away but can’t stop his heavy eye lids closing either. “Do you mind…”

“No I not mind, I like too. We talk tomorrow, si? Please rest Nole.” Rafa leans down and kisses Novak once on his forehead, and just like that he’s out on command. Rafa reaches over for the TV remote and turns the screen on, turning the volume down low and sets an alarm on his phone. He watches over Novak silently until sleep claims him as well. The rest of the night is filled with the soft sounds of Novak’s sleep and the flickering of the television screen against the dark hotel room.

**Author's Note:**

> Unrelated: Please help me to win a tshirt from Tomas Berdych by favouriting my tweets! 
> 
> http://tomasberdych.cz/reply/681AAB3B  
> http://tomasberdych.cz/reply/87AA38A7


End file.
